Dragon's Bane
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Could the Malfoy family be related to the vampire hunting Belmonts? Dracula and Voldemort have just joined sides, and it's up to Draco, Alucard, and Harry Potter to defeat them. AU past HBP.
1. Chapter 1: Bad Faith

**Disclaimer for entire story: I do not own the _Castlevania_ or _Harry Potter_ universe.**

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this; it's just a story that's been nagging in my head. It's a bit of a stretch, I suppose, but give it a chance. My thanks to _Patricia de Lioncourt _who is the operator who connects me to my muses.**

**Spoiler: This is set directly after Draco apparates outside of Hogwarts near the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and it contains many spoilers for the 6th book.**

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 1: Bad Faith**

Malfoy Manor was a shadow on night; its gray-stone walls were part of the landscape itself, hidden fold upon fold in the damp woodland that outlined the towering cliff. The land it was built upon jutted out into angry white-tipped waves that let out thunderous cries as they slapped worn rock. The sound of Draco's apparation drowned in the loud claps. He landed on the edge of the cliff, so close that one false step would have sent him to his maker. Draco shuttered--thoughts of the afterlife did not sit well with murder accomplices.

Severus Snape's shouts still echoed in his ears, though he was certain his old professor was hundreds of miles away. Had the other Death Eaters escaped? No. Not all of them, Draco knew. His eyes drifted down to the still wet blood on his boots. Not everyone had made it. The wizard rubbed his eyes as the waves sent their own salty tears to join his pitiful weaknesses, gathering on his cheeks. This was why he apparated outside the manor instead of into the warmth of his home. He could not let his mother see him in this state, crying and paler than usual, fine robes streaked in only Merlin knew what. Also, he could not face his mother knowing that he had not fulfilled his duty to the family. Narcissa had spent many nights begging her son to disobey their Dark Lord, but Draco had acted offended by the mere thought of not following Voldemort's orders.

It was now that Draco realized what a fool he truly was in trying to kill Dumbledore. The old Headmaster had spoken the truth to him. Draco did not have the courage or coldness for such a deed, and Voldemort had known that much when he had requested the impossible from the young man. Dumbledore had been right; Voldemort must have wished him dead. Nevertheless, Draco could not push himself to hot rage at his Dark Lord. He, Draco Malfoy, had released the Death Eaters onto Hogwarts. He had been the one to ignore Dumbledore's offer of freedom. He had been to one to let Severus murder an innocent man, not Lord Voldemort. The fault was his, and the pain of knowing this much made Draco wish he had apparated one foot to the right, where rock escaped black sky.

He drug his feet as he made his way to the manor's gate, wand still clutched in his hand. Draco stopped, listening closely for commotion. After all, he had no idea if the Ministry would already be searching for him. He glanced the dilapidated servants' quarters that lay outside the manor's left wing, unused in over a century. It would house him for the few hours before morning, he decided. He stepped up to the hut, but his eyes caught a light in the manor, the only light in fact. It was coming from the ground level, the chandelier of the spacious dining room.

Curiosity pushed him to the window. He peered inside, and his eyes burned even more furiously. His mother sat at one end of the long mahogany table, a full bowl of soup to one side and a book in front of her. Her beautiful face was twisted in some inner pain and tears wet the breast of her robes as they fell. She moaned out her son's name as she sobbed, napkin clutched in her long thin fingers. A house elf stood beside her, trying to please his mistress, but Narcissa Malfoy only cried out at the small creature, pushing the bowl of soup off of the table.

Draco realized that he wasn't breathing and inhaled. His mother—he could not let her sit and suffer. "She thinks I'm dead," he whispered.

He muttered a spell under his breath, and his robes were clean and straight. Draco made his way to the kitchen door and pushed his way in, past the house elf carrying the remains of the soup bowl in gnarled hands. His mother's eyes met his as he entered the dining room. A sound that reminded him of an owl escaped her lips.

"My Draco," she said. Narcissa's fingers covered her mouth as she let one final sob rake her. "Oh, thank you, Severus," she muttered gratefully. "Then he fulfilled his vows?"

A puzzled look crossed Draco's face. "Mother? What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "Don't fret on it, my son. The important thing is that you live. Come to me."

Draco walked toward her and fell onto his knees in front of her chair, embracing her with greedy arms. "Mother," he whispered. "I may not live for much longer."

Amazement crossed Narcissa's face. Never had Draco showed such reverence to any but his father and his Lord. Her hand combed through her son's blond hair, and she bit her lip.

"Wrong, son," she hissed. "None will take you from me now. I will not allow them to have you."

Draco stared up at his mother. "But I did not fulfill my orders. Dumbledore did not die by my hands. Snape killed him as I watched. Our Dark Lord will not let me live after tonight. I have failed him too many times."

"Draco," his mother began, "pull a chair close to me."

Draco obeyed his mother, taking a seat so close that their knees touched. "Mother, I don't have long. It will be only a short time before the Ministry discovers my involvement. Even if they are stalled, the Order will find out what role I played soon enough. I need to go, and I want you to go with me. Dumbledore. . ." Draco stopped, noticing his mother's questioning face. "I mean—that old fool had an idea. We could cover our tracks."

Narcissa squeezed Draco's hand inside her own. "My son, you can not run from your blood. Voldemort—yes I will speak the name of the _man_ who tried to steal my son and husband—'he' wishes you dead. He wishes to use the Malfoy blood to make himself a new alliance with another Dark Lord."

"Another Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "There is none."

"No, Draco, listen to me," Narcissa snapped. "I refer to the Lord of the Undead. His name is Dracula, and he is a vampire long destroyed."

"A dead vampire?" Draco hissed. "What would the Dark Lord care for a destroyed vampire, and why would he need a Malfoy? This does not make any sense, Mother!"

"Quiet!" Narcissa slid the book before her son, her fingers running across its yellow, cracked pages. "This is a journal. It is almost three hundred years old. It belonged to a wizard named Joshua Malfoy, the first Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. His father had said that his family tree could be traced back five hundred years with ease. Draco did not voice this but instead looked down at the page. He raised a brow. "Mother, you're mistaken. This entry was signed by a man named Joshua Belmont."

"Yes, yes it was," Narcissa breathed. "When I carried you in my womb, your father told me the truth of the famous pureblood Malfoy bloodline. Draco, Joshua Belmont was the father of all Malfoys, and he was—how do you put it, my son?—a mudblood."

"What?" Draco shouted. "If father heard you say this. . ."

"Draco," Narcissa cooed. "It was your father who disclosed this to me."

"No!"

"Yes," Narcissa answered calmly. "The Belmont family is very old. They uphold a tradition of battling the vampire Dracula whenever he is awakened from his dead slumber. Joshua Belmont was the younger of two sons, and he showed talents in magic at a very young age. It was noted in his journals that he attended the newly founded Durmstrang Institute as a child. However, his muggle family did not fully appreciate his magic. A great feud broke out when he came of age and decided not to uphold the family's traditions. He thought of his family as magicless fools and told them as much. He was, naturally, disowned. After this, he had no choice but to change his name.

"As he left, his older brother said that the family had put bad faith in him. Joshua found this a laughing matter and took a name of the same meaning. When he moved to Scotland, he became Joshua Malfoy. He upheld an honorable position in the magical community, lying about the pureness of his family. Thus, he came to own this manor, Draco."

"So my ancestor was a liar—somehow that does not amaze me." Draco smirked. "An interesting history lesson, Mother, but how does this relate to my current situation." Draco noticed the unshed tears reddening his mother's eyes and dropped the haughtiness from his voice. "Forgive me, Mother, but I don't understand."

"Oh, my son." Narcissa closed the book. "Dracula is a vampire who refuses to remain dead. When his is awakened from his sleep, he is wrathful of the Belmonts who are responsible for slaying him. I know very little of the matter because Joshua did not write much of his old family in the journals. Over the past few months, the Dark Lord has been finding any information on Dracula and the Belmont family. He, of course, knows of the Malfoy and Belmont relation. It was your aunt Bellatrix who delivered the news weeks ago that the last Belmonts had recently lost their eldest son. The father is dead as well, leaving an infant daughter and a wife with no blood relation to the Belmonts." Narcissa paused, her ocean blue eyes piecing her son. "You are the eldest of the blood line, you and Lucius, and Voldemort knows this."

"Then Father and I will not fight this vampire," Draco reasoned.

Narcissa shook her head. "Draco, I received new information this morning. Voldemort told the other Death Eaters to meet in the ruins of Dracula's fallen castle, if and when Dumbledore took his fall. He plans to use Belmont blood, Malfoy blood, to help awaken Dracula and seal a pact with the vampire."

"But, he expected me to die. . ." Draco's eyes shot up. "Father!"

Draco stood, but Narcissa grabbed his wrist. "No! Don't go," she cried. "Your father is loyal only to the Dark Lord, not his family. Draco, listen to me, I am your mother. Lucius would serve Dracula as an ally. Don't you see, he even named you after the follower's of Dracula to mock his Belmont blood. He knew this day would come many years ago."

Draco jerked his arm away. "Mother! I can not believe you would sacrifice him so easily!" Narcissa cringed at his declaration. "He is my father. I will save him from the fate you say he is so desperate to embrace, with or without your help."


	2. Chapter 2: Spilt Blood

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 2: Spilt Blood**

Sharp pain shot from the back of Draco's skull to his eyes, blinding him in a wave of red. He clutched his aching head, wincing as he lifted himself off of the jagged, crumbling stones. His fingers were wet when he brought them away, but the light was too poor for him to make out anything but a black, sticky stain. Even the faintest thought of his own blood brought on a wave of dizziness that turned his stomach and threatened to pitch him into a new form of darkness.

He stood on shaky legs, wand in hand, and pushed himself a few paces on. Pale moonlight attempted to reveal the ruins of the long destroyed building that he we was stumbling through. He turned a full circle to survey his surroundings. A statue of a saint stood to his right. It was missing a huge chunk of its finely carved head. Draco had no idea who the saint might have been (the Malfoys, as a rule, rarely attended anything related to religion), but he recognized the cross and praying hands.

Had his apparition taken him to the wrong place? It wouldn't have been the first time for the almost legal wizard. Not only did he have to focus on the vaguest of destinations, the undisclosed location of Dracula's grave, he had already apparated one long distance a few hours earlier off of the outer grounds of Hogwarts. Perhaps exhaustion had taken him to the wrong place—that would have explained his rough landing.

A stone arch stood a hundred feet away, lined with broken bricks that had once connected to flanking walls. It seemed as if the land slanted downward past that point, where the ruins ended. Draco walked toward the archway, hunching into its shadow to hide from what ever lay beyond. At the hillside's foot, on the flat landscape at its lowest point, stood a tomb or what remained of one. One full wall was missing from the rectangular structure, gauged out along with most of the roof and the slab that had probably served as a door. Draco could see into it, but he could make out nothing but darker shadow. A marble cross lay propped on one cracked arm, the rest of it imbedded into the soil.

Draco spotted movement along the standing walls of the tomb, and four figures appeared. With only the moon's glow to brighten the scene, he could still make out that three of them wore the masks of Death Eaters. The unmasked man was wearing strange robes which tied and hung to him like the humble garbs of a holy man, but Draco somehow doubted that he was a man of God. The young wizard held tightly to the archway, hoping that they would not turn and spot him.

One of the Death Eaters raised a wand and torches on the remaining three sides of the tomb flamed wildly, casting an orange glow on the small group and that which lay at the tomb's center, a stone sarcophagus, plain in design and ominous in its girth. Draco's breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was staring at—the grave of Dracula.

There was a loud pop from behind and Draco found himself on the ground, ropes wrapped around his arms and chest.

"What the bloody hell!"

Draco's eyes widened in fear and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "My, my lord. . . ."

Lord Voldemort stood where Draco had been crouching, unmasked and yet more horrifying with his smooth, melted skeletal face and ruby eyes. He looked down at Draco as if he were a squashed bug he was scraping off of his boot.

"I was under the impression that you were _busy_ this night," the Dark Lord sneered. "Stand."

Draco scrambled to his feet, lowering his eyes submissively and not bothering to struggle against the binds at his arms. A thousand cruel words passed through his mind, but he could not gather the courage to speak even one of them. He could only wait for the pain of his punishment to come.

"Walk."

Draco stumbled down the hillside awkwardly. The four at the tomb were already staring as he landed at their feet. Three of them bowed deeply for their lord's entrance.

"It seems that young Mr. Malfoy wishes to get in on the action, my servants," Voldemort announced, a hint of cold humor in is voice. "I'm certain that he did not simply stop by to give me the news of Dumbledore's demise by Severus's hand. My servants, remove your masks. We have no time for pretense. I want my new ally to see your faces when he awakens."

The masks faded away in one sweeping movement. Draco recognized the faces. His Aunt Bellatrix smirked down at him as if she had somehow expected him to fall out of her lord's good graces all along. Mr. Crabbe, Vincent's father, looked only to his feet, his stone face somewhat dazed. And the last Death Eater seemed the most disappointed of all.

"Father. . ."

Lucius Malfoy did not speak to his son but looked past him. "My Master, forgive me for my son's intrusion."

"Come now, Lucius," Voldemort said. "It's not every day a boy gets to see his father out of prison." The Dark Lord turned away, focusing his attention on the priestly man. "Did you bring what I requested?"

"It is as you asked," the man answered. "My order will not be pleased to have you interfering with its work. It is not our way. I doubt my master will take the disturbance well."

"Your _order _is out of date, and its numbers are dwindling. As for your master," Voldemort hissed. "This allegiance was foreseen long ago, and he will be more than pleased to find himself waking a few years early."

The priest nodded slowly. "I hope it is as you say, Lord Voldemort. His wrath can be great if he is unhappy. You spoke of a Belmont who would be your source of bargaining. It seems you have two at your disposal."

"The only two of the correct blood and age," Voldemort agreed. "The eldest is the one I spoke of and the other. . . Your master does enjoy such sport?"

The priest grinned. "Indeed."

"Then let us get on with it. You," he snapped, pointing at Crabbe, "step forward and take the token from the Dark Priest."

Crabbe's eyes shot up. "Me?"

Voldemort sent a red glare in the other wizard's direction. Crabbe stepped up slowly. The priest pulled from his robes a heavy cloth, unwrapping that which lay within. A moment later he held up a luminescent, ornamented stone hanging from a long chain. The priest looped it around Crabbe's neck, letting the charm drop against the wizard's chest. Voldemort raised a wand, and the sarcophagus's lid slid back until it crashed to the ground in two pieces.

The priest began to chant in words Draco had never heard in any spell book. The roll of thunder echoed overhead, trapped within clouds, adding its own music. Voldemort handed Crabbe a small knife and gestured toward the remains in the stone box.

"Do as I told you," Voldemort hissed.

Crabbe gulped visibly, his hands shaking as he approached the coffin before him. He held out one hand over the opening and brought the blade down against the skin of his wrist, wincing as it bit. A crimson line spread and dropped like crimson rain into a gutter.

The priest's chants heightened until Draco wished to cover his ears. Earth shuttered in fear. Something moved within the box, scrabbling like an animal. A hand shot out, grabbing Crabbe's bloody wrist and wrenching the man down. The creature arose, its structure slick and bat-like, but slowly seeming to be more of a man. Two fingers like talons ripped off the necklace around Crabbe's neck, grasping it in reverence. The vampire leaned in and torn his fangs into the wizard's neck, draining the man and letting a thin streak of blood escape his mouth.

It was done before Draco could think to look away. The young man fell back, fear displayed across his pale features. "Dracula," he muttered, unable to stop himself.

"A Belmont speaks my name," came the chilling reply.

Crabbe's body dropped to the ground and the vampire turned, his face almost handsome, even it its monstrosity. The vampire looked at Draco for only a moment before turning to his servant.

"My Dark Priest," Lord Dracula said. "Where is my Castlevania?"

The priest, who had fell to his knees during the precession, stood holding a cloak out for his lord. "My master, I was asked not to raise the castle until your resurrection."

The vampire cocked his head, staring at the dark wizard before him. "You obeyed another? This one?"

"Yes, Lord Dracula," the priest answered. "Let me introduce you to the infamous Lord. . ."

"Voldemort," Dracula answered. "I know his name. A seer once spoke of our future meeting. It seems the future is now."

Lord Voldemort gestured to his servants, and they hesitantly bowed. Voldemort lowered his head in an act of reverence and lifted it again to address the vampire. "I have heard what the seer said those many centuries ago, Lord Dracula. We, two dark masters of our times, should unite. It is our destiny. I have brought a gift that may make your decision to join me an easy one. Lucius."

The elder Malfoy rose from his bow and walked forward. "My lords," he addressed curtly.

Dracula let a small grin grace his face. "Belmont blood. . . . Perhaps we can discuss the final details of this arrangement in better surroundings."

Voldemort nodded. "My thoughts exactly. Lucius will be more than willing to aid you in raising your castle. There we can discuss it. But let me give a suggestion to its location. I know of an ideal location for power and resources. It is in our common enemies' back yard, quite literally."

"As good a place as any. Hold to your servants, and we shall survey our new lands," Dracula answered.

Draco slowly inched back, but his aunt reached out and grabbed him by the hair. Before he could snap at her, power began to push over the group like the sun's rays. Draco shut his eyes, expecting some form of a bang, but instead there was only the slightest feeling of floating before a sudden drop. When he opened his eyes, he still sat in the mist of the small group, but his surroundings had changed. They were in the Forbidden Forest.


	3. Chapter 3: Fall from Heaven

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 3: Fall from the Heavens**

The Forbidden Forest was still and silent before the coming storm. Its eerie wood lost its creaking moan and there was not even the slightest threat of some outside creature awaiting an easy prey. For all of this, the twisted smiles upon two of Satan's most favored faces left Draco shaking in fear. Instinct told him that Hell would soon arrive and that he would be stuck in her deepest circle.

When he was younger, Draco had suffered from nightmares, dark hallucinations of an eternal chase through the foggy wood, a faceless beast following him and bark-covered hands forever grabbing at his robes. Only hours earlier, he had been acting out that cruel play, running toward the forest at Snape's order in hopes of finding an escape before the aurors closed in on him or Potter's little friends hexed him into oblivion. At that moment, he had been in such a panic that fear had been unable to capture him, but that was no longer the case.

In the slow moments that now passed, he shuttered to think that for all the anguish of his nightmares, at least they had given him the chance to run. That was no longer an option. If he tried to get away, he would be leaving his father behind. Even if he escaped them for the moment, he would then be stuck in the forest, alone. To add to his situation, he realized that his wand was missing, dropped in a land far away. Only, one stroke of fortune had befallen him. The ropes around his torso had came loose, though none around him seemed to care that his arms were free since he could not resist them with fists alone.

"I admit this land is much more to my liking. The soil is rich in magic and memory," the Vampire King said, breaking the silence. He closed his eyes, tilting his head up with his wicked grin still displayed to match Lord Voldemort's. "Secluded, yet still close enough for me to hear the cries of children and smell their rushing blood. Indeed, your enemies . . . _our_ enemies are close, but they are still deaf to my return."

"They're too busy mourning that old fool Dumbledore to realize that their world is about to collapse in on them," Voldemort said, taking a chance to steal a glance of his youngest 'servant' as he mentioned the headmaster's death.

Draco saw his father shift uneasily, and the Dark Lord's attention went to his Death Eaters. "Only one of you can play diplomat to my new ally. My Lucius, I believe that Lord Dracula wishes for you to fill that place."

"As you ask," Lucius answered without hesitation. The wizard moved to Dracula's side, giving him a short bow. "How may I serve you?"

Draco pulled himself up on shaky legs, his mouth open to speak. A hand clenched down onto his shoulder, painfully pushing him to his knees again. The one referred to as a Dark Priest looked down at him, eyes glistening dangerously. Draco hadn't even noticed that the man had 'traveled' with them.

"My lords," the priest said, "will you be requiring a _word_ with this Belmont as well?"

Dracula did not look back to answer, instead gesturing for Lucius to lower his hood. Long blond hair spilled out onto black robes and the wizard's questioning gray eyes were no longer in dark shadow but lit in moonlight. The vampire watched him intently as if expecting some sort of reaction. When he received nothing but a willful expression, Dracula's lips curved into a slight frown, a look akin to disappointment passing over his face.

He turned his head, as if listening, then looked over at Draco, still a few feet away. Draco knew that his anger was displayed clearly across his face. He knew that something terrible was about to take place and that his father would be a tool. Never had Draco been so bold as to even express any emotion, to his father or the Dark Lord. He had always remained cool and collected as his father had taught him, but now something raged through him.

"Father, please, don't be such a coward!" he cried. Fear squeezed the young wizard's heart as Lucius cast a malicious glance in his son's direction. Draco did not dare glance in Lord Voldemort's direction, though he thought then that the Dark Lord's silence was an oddity.

"Do not speak of cowards after your pitiful display earlier," his father hissed, angrily. Draco expected it to end there, with the promise of punishment to come, but Lucius continued. "You had him in your grasp. . . Weakling. If you were not of my blood, I would have killed you at the tomb. I expected so much better of you."

As the words left his father's mouth, Draco felt himself indeed become the weakling, the failure. "Forgive me, Father," he said more softly. "But this creature hates our blood. Mother told me what. . ."

"Then she told you falsely," Dracula interrupted. "I adore the blood of Belmonts." He laughed lightly at his own joke, before turning to his priest. "Did you honestly need to ask that question, servant? How can you forget, that the youngest always make for better sport? You know how I play my games, or has no one told you how this works?"

The priest lowered his eyes, abashed, and stepped away from Draco's side. "Mercy for my ill chose words, my lord? I simply thought that you would prefer to finish this here."

"And what is the point of an undead life without a bit of entertainment?" Dracula raised a brow, eyes back on the Death Eater before him. "Also, I would prefer this one first. I do not like how he speaks to his son—after all, who enjoys hearing his own sins repeated by another? The other will take his turn later."

Lucius opened his mouth, eyes wide in shock. "But my son offends you? I sought only to remedy. . ."

"I believe I was next going to mention a word my Dark Priest spoke a moment ago. He asked for _mercy,"_ Dracula said.

Draco felt his pulse quicken. _The old man had spoken of mercy, too. He said that he could have granted me mercy, had I asked. But it is too late for that. Father, why have you not asked yet?_

"Mercy?" Dracula continued. "I do have mercy for what is mine, the same mercy that a farmer gives a hog when the time for slaughter is at hand."

The Dark Priest lowered his eyes, knowing well that the statement had not been directed to him, but Lucius looked about in confusion, his eyes searching for his own lord's in a plea for help.

"I like your perspective, Lord Dracula," Voldemort said.

There was a flash of movement in the space between the vampire and Lucius Malfoy. For a moment, Draco thought that it had been a trick of light, but Dracula held his hand out, gripped into a fist but for the shortest finger which was angled toward the sky like a curving blade. Its glass-like nail dripped a tear of crimson, first one and then two.

Lucius uttered a gasp, stumbling backwards. A line of blood, bright even in the darkness, painted him from ear to ear, spurting a few pitiful bursts of life into the air before releasing a river onto the front of his robes. The wizard fell back onto the dew soaked earth, grasping at the gurgling wound in vain.

There was screaming. Draco only realized that it was his own when the priest's booted foot crushed into his side and made him bite his tongue.

"YOU!" Draco shouted through clenched teeth, still trying to catch his breath from the blow and the hot sting in his eyes. "I'll kill you, you bastards!" He crawled on hands and knees toward his father's form.

Fingers like ice wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him an arm's reach from his father. "You don't want to stand that close, boy." The Vampire King lifted him, until only his toes touched the grass and tossed him behind the group. Dracula looked over his shoulder at Draco. "Look what wonders blood can sow. Learn from this, and maybe you'll survive longer."

Draco's fist tightened, posed to attack, but his eyes caught the trail of blood spilling from his father, soaking into the soil. Gray clouds rolled with thunder, announcing the storm's arrival. Where the life had spilled, tight buds pulled themselves from the ground, closed petals embracing the newly born seeds of evil.

The roses writhed like beasts instead of plants, spreading out in growing numbers. Heaven's lights flashed from one cloud to another until a flaming bolt escaped toward earth. The lightning hit the ground a few yards in front of the corpse.

Draco winced, blinded by the brightness as the forest trembled in fear. When he opened his eyes again, a clearing had formed in front of them, the low vegetation untouched but the trees crumbling to ash. The roses had blossomed as well, slumping slightly as if exhaling. Then he saw what had to be the purpose of his father's gruesome death. Stones, some built into walls and others single and gigantic in size, were falling from the sky.

Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix involuntary stepped back as the first hit earth, shaking her surface. Draco took the moment to push himself up. Before fear could take hold again, he ran. He stopped behind a tree that still belonged to the remaining forest. When he looked back, walls had formed the skeleton of a huge castle, more grand and ominous than anything Draco had seen before. Its towers reached out to claw the clouds, and its gate was tall, foreboding in that he knew for certain something wicked was already moving about behind it.

Before the gate, the husk of Lucius Malfoy lay on a stone walkway leading into the castle. Draco's mouth dropped as he watched thorny vines twitch and slither toward his father's body, wrapping around it and pulling it toward a giant rose's open and waiting petals. Draco could make out the form of a woman within beckoning hungrily for the corpse. Sickened, the young wizard turned away with his back against the bark. Even from where he now stood, he could hear the voice of Dracula

"Look how greedy my Venus weeds are for the old taste. It has been a long time for them and the others inside. Lord Voldemort, my mannerisms have somewhat lessened over the centuries. You and your follower must join me in my homecoming. Welcome, to Castlevania."

A hot tear rolled down Draco's cheek, but he wiped it away bitterly. There was no time to shake like a frightened dog with his tale tucked beneath him. There was no ghost to hear his pitiful complaints in this dark place and time. Draco was no fool, though many would profess otherwise. He knew that he would not be able to gather the courage or the strength to fight the vampire or go against the one he _once _called his lord. He had to use his brain and find a way out of his current situation. He would have to run faster than he could fly. And if he looked back, this morning would be his last.


	4. Chapter 4: And Darkness Shall Engulf

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 4: And Darkness Shall Engulf the Earth**

"_Believe me, a thousand friends suffice the not; in a single enemy thou has more than enough." –Ali Ben Abou Taleb_

He knew that they were not following him, but that thought alone did not slow his frantic pace. Draco continued to run, run as if he could somehow beat the darkness. But night followed in its race, fast on his heel, and somehow, Draco knew that it was not at all a natural night. The Forbidden Forest was always a place cast in shadow, but it seemed to the young wizard that the darkness lived and had gathered above like storm clouds to block the light of day that would soon be peeking overhead.

And as for the beasts of the wood? He heard nothing but his own heavy breathing, saw nothing but the faintest outline of continuous trees. Perhaps the animals had abandoned their homes or hid themselves from this new danger. Draco wondered if they were even aware of the invading evil that had entered their domain.

The wandless wizard stumbled over a root, falling to the ground and skinning his palms painfully. He crawled forward, bent on pushing himself up but too dizzy to even stay on his knees. A metallic taste covered his mouth, and he realized that he must have busted his tongue open earlier. Draco wretched at the thought of swallowing even his own blood, especially after what he had seen on this night.

Draco coughed, his head aching. He had forgotten the wound that his sloppy apparation had dealt his head. Standing would be an impossibility until the pain resided. Instead, he pulled himself to a tree trunk, resting his back against it and catching his breath.

He was weak. The long apparations he had performed earlier had made him clumsy enough, but the evening's events were what left him numb to the bone. He had watched three men that he knew _die_ right in front of him. He had witnessed the rise of a second Dark Lord, glimpsed a castle built on the base of his father's blood. Never had Draco seen so much pain and suffering. How had he ever thought that he would be able to fight in such a battle? He was coward, not someone willing to fight for good or a servant wishing to risk his life for a 'master'.

All that he had done was for his family.

_And I have failed them as well. _Draco held back tears, his body aching with batter and exhaustion. "Why didn't you listen to me, Father? For once, couldn't you have heard me out, you stupid bastard?" he hissed.

He pushed himself onto his feet, holding to the side of the tree. When he looked up, he saw pale moonlight and stars twinkling innocently in the sky. He let out a shaky breath. He had escaped the forest. The grounds of Hogwarts were laid out before him, the castle standing as tall and magnificent as ever.

Part of him did not want to proceed, because he knew that those in that castle would hate him more than any other soul alive. _Will they even know that I didn't kill him? Will they destroy me, thinking I'm a murderer? _

Draco wouldn't blame them. It was his fault this had happened and there would most definitely be consequences to his actions. However, the thought strongest on his mind was that they should be warned. There was no going back for him—he had to tell them what had taken place on this night, that a new evil had joined the Dark Lord.

Draco slowly walked onto the grounds. The entry way in front of him blurred and focused as his mind swam. He put a hand to his head, wincing when he touched sticky, dried blood that had dripped down the back of his neck.

"Stop where you are!" shouted a voice.

Draco came to a halt without needing a second warning.

"Sit your wand on the ground and turn around slowly, or you will be stunned."

"I don't have one," Draco muttered. He wanted to speak louder, but he could barely get the words to come out. "I dropped it . . . I don't have it."

He turned his head, squinting to make out the two figures beside him. His vision cleared and he recognized them at once. Remus Lupin and Draco's blood traitor cousin Nymphadora Tonks stood side by side, their wands drawn and pointed in his direction.

Tonks'eyes widened. "Malfoy?" Her expression hardened somewhat, but the anger that Draco had expected did not appear. "You should have run when you had the chance."

"I . . . did," Draco murmured, faintness washing over him. His knees went out, and, when he opened his eyes, he was lying face down on the grass.

A hand grabbed his arm, rolling him over. Lupin was looking down at him, crouched at his side. Tonks still had her wand aimed at his chest.

"He's injured," Lupin stated as if expecting the auror to give ground.

Tonks only stared down at him. "Harry said that he had disappeared with the other Death Eaters," she said. "I guess he must've gotten lost in the forest."

Draco blinked. "No," he said. His body stiffed, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. "You must listen to me . . . I didn't kill him."

"We know it was Snape. What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Tonks asked.

"I had to get out . . . I needed to warn you."

"He needs to be sent to the Hospital Wing," Remus interrupted, putting an arm around the younger wizard's shoulders and helping him stand. "He took a smart hit on his head."

Tonks nodded. "He's a criminal, Remus."

Lupin frowned. "He's a student, Dora."

"Fine," the auror said, gesturing for the two males to walk in front of her. "Pomfrey can patch him up."

"There's no time for that!" Draco shouted angrily. "Don't you understand? I didn't come back to be coddled! The Dark Lord is in the forest. He has a new ally. You have to warn everyone. He killed. . ."

What could he say? _He killed by father, because I let him, because I didn't fight back when I should have. _

"My father's dead," he finished solemnly. "And Vincent's, too. Someone should tell him. . . He doesn't know yet."

Remus didn't let any emotion show on his face. Instead he squeezed Draco's shoulder, encouraging him to move forward. "Come along, Draco. We'll discuss it in the Hospital Wing."

Draco let the werewolf lead him into the castle, unable to argue his point any further. Thankfully, no one spotted his arrival until he reached the Hospital Wing. He knew that the infirmary would have patients, or at least he should have realized as much. Nevertheless, when he stepped past the line of beds, he was surprised to see Molly Weasley sitting in a chair beside one bed, her eyes reddened with grief. Draco didn't recognize the patient, but he froze at the sight of the mangled face beneath the tussle of ginger hair.

"Who?" Draco asked softly.

Molly looked up, suddenly aware of the visitors. "Remus, what is . . .? Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco took a step back into Lupin. "Bill Weasley," he heard Tonks reply to his question.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Molly stared at him, a sleepy, dumbfounded expression on her face. After all, how often did one hear a Malfoy apologize? She looked away from him.

Draco took a seat on the end of one bed. "Was anyone else hurt?" he asked.

"A few," Tonks replied. "But they'll recover. One Death Eater was killed."

The Slytherin Prince didn't reply. A chill swept over him when he realized that his housemates could have just as easily been lying on these beds. "Many will die if you don't stop them," he breathed. "You'll have to . . . because I can't." He looked up, grabbing Lupin's arm. "I think I'm supposed to, but I can't. I'm a coward." When he received no answer, he added, "Get the Headma. . .Get Professor McGonagall, get everyone. The Dark Lord has a new ally, someone more powerful, darker than I've ever seen before. We have to tell the school before there's an attack. Do as I say!"

Tonks grabbed Draco by the scruff. "Do you mean to say that there's going to be another attack tonight?"

"I don't know when, but it will be soon. I only want to tell this story once! Just go get your bloody do-gooders together!"

Tonks nodded to Lupin and walked back the way they had came, her pace somewhat quicker than before. Remus stared down at the young wizard.

"You're lucky that the Ministry has already left; they would have arrested you on sight," the werewolf stated.

"Lucky," Draco sneered.

Performing the expression made his head fill with fog, his eyes drifting closed to block the pressure. The next thing he knew, a hand was shaking him. A hand. _A hand on his neck with long, cold fingers that could slice open a man's throat, that could spill a Malfoy's blood on the ground and raise evil to do its bidding. _

Draco jerked awake in fear.

"Mr. Malfoy." The voice was as sharp as steel, slicing through him. "Mr. Malfoy, do calm yourself." Professor Minerva McGonagall glared at him from the foot of the bed, her lips pursed impatiently.

The young wizard pulled himself up, taking in those who were now surrounding him. Arthur Weasley stood a few feet away, a restraining hand wrapped around his wife, and beside the couple stood Lupin and Tonks. Pomfrey stated her presence by bustling by to get a look at Draco's wounds.

"Mr. Malfoy, before you speak, let me warn you that anything you say can be reported to the Ministry unless you make it known to us that you wish the information to remain confidential," McGonagall began, just as precisely as she would teach a class. Draco realized that she was hiding her feelings rather well. "Even then your safety can not be entirely ensured."

"I didn't come here for that," Draco snapped. "I don't care about your aid."

McGonagall was unfazed. "Then why are you here, Mr. Malfoy?"

He was silent a moment. "Because I ran. And when I stopped, I was here." When no one replied, he continued. "You all have to leave this school. Have everyone sent away at once."

"And why should we do that, Mr. Malfoy?" the old professor asked. "Nymphadora mentioned that you claim to know that another attack may be at hand. She also says that you disclosed He-Who-Mu—Lord Voldemort's plans. Would you care to tell us exactly what you meant by 'new ally'? To whom were you referring?"

Draco's slate gray eyes met hers, and he hoped that she could see the seriousness of his soul when he spoke that dreadful name.

"_Dracula_."


	5. Chapter 5: For Every Evil, a Hero

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 5: For Every Evil, a Hero**

"_If good men were only better, would the wicked be so bad?" –John White Chadwick_

Dracula.

The evil that he came to warn them of was the legendary Dracula.

". . . They raised him . . . Fed him Mr. Crabbe. . ."

Draco told his tale, barely aware that he was still speaking. He was too weary to stop himself from giving away emotion or to embellish his replies with snarky retorts. The world faded in and out, and he knew that he must be feeling some form of sorrow, but only rage and exhaustion showed on his face.

"Dracula transported us to the forest . . . The Dark Lord said that one of his own would be required in order to raise Dracula's castle. So he called on my father. The vampire said that I could wait . . . He'd come after me later—his prey."

He almost wished that they would laugh at him, stop him and call him a fool who had hit his head too hard. But they didn't. Nor did they ask him to keep going after a point, but their eyes wanted more knowledge.

"Why?"

Tonks posed the question. She rolled off her colleagues' stares, looking back at Draco. "Why would they have it in for you and your family? I can see him making an example of you, but why be so specific as to give you over to the vampire?"

Draco shook his head, his tongue fat, stuck in his throat. He had left out what his mother said about the Malfoy family, about their impurity, their lineage. Even now, he didn't wish to discuss it.

"Evil doesn't need a reason," Lupin said softly, holding to Tonks' elbow. But even as the werewolf said it, he gave Draco a piercing stare that clearly meant that he would have to explain himself in the near future.

McGonagall made a slight clicking sound with her tongue. "That will be enough for now. Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you get some rest. You will have quite a bit of explaining to do in the morning.

The group faded back gradually, probably to go have a meeting of their own. His eyes didn't shut until only Madame Pomfrey remained. However, when they opened again, the healer was not there—it was another lone figure standing a few beds away, currently looking down at Bill Weasley's peacefully dreaming form.

Recognizing him, Draco raised a brow, pushing himself off of the bed. "Potter?"

"Malfoy," he replied in greeting. Harry Potter turned, face as hard and expressionless as stone.

Draco pushed himself back into the pillows, and, though he wouldn't dare admit it, he was somewhat intimidated by the Gryffindor. After all, he was alone and the weaker party at the moment. Potter might have been the Golden Boy, but vengeance was universal. Were Draco in his shoes, he would have already attacked.

"Scary how quickly gossip can travel, isn't it?" Potter asked. "Ron told me that he had been headed back toward the hospital wing to see his mum when who should he spot but Malfoy . . . Don't worry. Only a handful of students know about you. By morning, though, I expect your own house will be sending you flowers."

The wizard approached, and Draco noticed that his wand was drawn. "Flowers for your funeral."

"Is that a threat, Potter?" Draco snapped.

"Not from me." Harry's mask broke. "Stop your squirming, Malfoy. I'm not here to kill you."

Draco was too weak to try to find out what Harry was thinking, but he knew that the other young man wasn't lying.

"So what _are_ you here for?"

Potter glared down at the blond. "All I have to do is keep my mouth shut," he stated. "I don't have to tell them what I saw."

"What are you are on about, scarhead?" Draco growled.

"I'm the one who told them it was Snape. But the Ministry will want an account as well." He leaned back onto another bed, relishing in Draco's confused expression. "I was frozen and invisible, but I saw what happened on the roof. I was there, Malfoy. I hate to defend you, but I saw that you were backing down. And that's what I told everyone—that Snape was the killer. But you're still responsible for what happened. You'll have to pay for that one day."

Emotion washed over Potter, pain, rage, resolution. "But not today," he finished. "I got information from Professor Lupin as he was leaving. He told me what happened to you. The Ministry won't believe you. I doubt they'll even believe me."

"I don't need your bloody defense, Golden Boy." Draco crossed his arms. "You and your morality can go to hell for all I care."

"Shut your trap, Malfoy," Potter hissed. "I'm not here to help you."

Draco felt his face flush in anger, but he kept his temper in restraint. He could hear his father's voice in his mind: _Don't indulge him, Draco._ But Draco also knew where that mindset had gotten Lucius Malfoy.

"Then what are you here for?"

Potter nodded. "Firstly, we need to insure that you're not arrested by the Ministry at sunrise. Professor McGonagall will have reported you by then. Also, I need to make sure that I'm not held up by questioning. That means we leave now. As is."

Draco raised a brow. "You are insane. Obviously you didn't get a hell of a lot out of that werewolf, or you would know that the thing after me is the king of bloody vampires. I'm not exactly a safe person to be around. Not to mention that I'm much safer in this castle than I am outside these walls. Actually, I'd be better off anywhere else."

"This isn't about _your _safety, Malfoy. Or have you forgotten that we're enemies?"

"That never left my mind!"

"Keep your voice down," Potter snapped. He took a breath, as if restraining his wand arm. "It's no secret to either side of the war; this will come down to a battle between Voldemort and me. I know that. I'm ready for it. But I need to get to him. He's already gotten the upper hand, found himself an ally. I need someone to lead me to him. I need someone who knows the inside. Dumbledore thought that person was Snape. He was obviously wrong. To my misfortune, that person is you."

"What the bloody hell makes you think that I'll help you? That I can? I think that big head of yours is filled with air, that's what I think, you stupid arse. Why don't you talk to your pitiful little friends, the know-it-all and the weasel? Aren't they the ones who are supposed to help you on these little high-and-mighty missions."

"Not now. They would get themselves killed. And they wouldn't understand what I'm asking from you." Harry raised his wand, holding it toward the wizard. "Do you know what I've noticed? That you're unarmed."

Silence.

"You wouldn't," Draco whispered.

"In the past, that would have been the truth. However, I've lost two people I care very much about, one of them this night." Potter took a step forward. "I suppose it's true what they say about desperate men. I'm willing to do anything to end this before anyone else I love gets hurt."

Draco swallowed hard, shaking his head, and barely managing to keep a grip on his composure. _If I had my wand, Potter. _"I don't know anything that could help you."

"Maybe not," Potter reasoned. "But I plan to squeeze every bit of information out of you that I can before the Ministry locks you away. I'm sure you know something that can help me. If not. . . ." He shrugged. "Well, then, I expect I'll use you as bait."

"You can't do that," Draco answered, his voice low and unsteady.

"I can and will," Potter assured. "But I don't want it to come down to that. I honestly don't want your death on my hands, but what comes will come."

"No." Draco stared at him. "You don't understand. I have to hide—I have to get my. . ." He broke off, blinking. His eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin, why didn't I think of her first! Oh, God, my mother. . . They'll come after her! I have to find her."

Harry watched him, surprise written across his features.

"They'll want her! To get to me. You know what they could do to her, Potter!" Draco cried.

"Your mother? Of course." Harry nodded, stunned by the other wizard's desperation. "We'll find her, Malfoy. We'll get her to safety first, just like Professor Dumbledore would have done. Then you're helping me. Understood?"

Draco clenched his jaw. "Fine. Let's go already."


	6. Chapter 6: And the Dead Shall Rise

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 6: And the Dead Shall Rise**

_If I had my bloody wand, Pothead! _Draco bit his lip, stopping himself from speaking his thoughts as Harry once again pushed him into the side of a stone wall, out of sight. They would soon lose the cover of darkness, judging from the corn-blue horizon which peaked out of the hillside, trailing bruised purple and coral brightness along the high tree lines.

"Nevermind, there's no one there," the other wizard whispered, releasing Malfoy and quietly pacing forward into the next patch of shadow.

Draco rolled his eyes, following after him. They were about to enter the school yard when they stopped, listening for any faculty who might still be on watch. Harry had insisted that he knew a way around those aurors and professors guarding the school, and, so far, he had been right. But that wasn't the reason Draco grabbed his sleeve.

"This is a stupid plan," Malfoy hissed.

"What do you suggest we do, you git? Go around a lake? You don't think someone will spot us if we go that way?" Harry said, his tone just as soft but dripping with sarcasm.

"Believe me when I tell you that you _do not_ want to go into that forest."

Harry turned, giving Draco a cold stare. "We need to get off of school grounds to apparate. This is the closest and fastest way—we'll only be moving along the border of the forest for a few minutes. Now, do you or do you not want to get to your mother?"

Draco clenched his fist and moved past the other wizard, quickly running toward the forest edge. Harry was beside him as they entered the shadowed wood, trying their best to keep the noise down as they stumbled along the brush. They came to a halt at the first clear spot.

"We should be far enough in now," Harry said.

"Good." Draco could feel the hairs on his neck rising as the silence of the forest tried to hold down his voice. "Now give me your wand."

Potter grabbed hold of Draco's shoulder. "You're mad. You can apparate without it."

"I bloody well cannot!" Draco snapped. "Do you know how tired I am? I've been apparating to and fro all night. I haven't got it in me. And you can't apparate to the manor because you—amateur that you are—need a fixed destination to concentrate on. Or did you forget that, Potter?"

Draco could barely see his own hand in front of his face, but a moment later he felt a wand on his palm.

"Don't try anything," Harry warned.

Draco shook his head, feeling Harry's grip on his shoulder tighten as he prepared to travel. Malfoy shut his eyes, concentrating. He could feel the magic stirring, but for some reason, it refused to release. "It's not working."

"What do you mean it's not working?" Harry snatched his wand back, keeping hold of Malfoy. A moment later he let out a curse. "Damn. I won't let me apparate to Ron's house. Something's wrong. It feels like we still have a barrier over us, like someone's expanded the nonapparation ward over Hogwarts to cover the forest."

"Will it let you use regular magic?" Draco's voice was steady, but, inside, his heart was thundering blood through his ears. _Someone's trapped us. Dracula—he's caught us. _"Well, see already, Potter."

"_Lumos!"_

Light shot out from the tip of Harry's wand, bringing the forest floor into view. "Works," Harry said.

"Good, now turn it off before someone spots us." Draco wrapped his arms around himself, the cold bringing chills to him.

"If they haven't already heard your big mouth," Harry shot. "We should move further in, maybe we haven't reached the edge of the ward yet. It's that or go back," he added, noting Draco's frown.

Draco took a step forward, staring off into the silhouette of trees and the dancing shadows caused by the wand light. "I saw something," he whispered.

"There are lots of things in this forest. Lots of bad things, and good things," Harry replied.

Draco shook his head. "Not now. Not anymore. Dracula's in this wood—you honestly thing the unicorns and the bunnies are sticking around to say hello? Hell, no. They're gone. The only things left are evil creatures and two idiotic wizards sharing one wand."

Harry raised a brow, sweeping his wand over the land, searching for movement. "I don't think I've ever heard you call yourself stupid before, Malfoy. It's quite humanizing."

"I'll have to work on that," Draco hissed, eyes darting. Suddenly he turned. "I heard something."

The wizards listened: wind rustled through the trees, shaking them into crackling moans. But there was something else, a sliding foot along the soil, a step, branches on the forest floor breaking in two. A sigh, heavy, tortured, traveled to their ears. It was followed by another, closer, from behind.

"Me, too. But it couldn't be coming from that direction. . . . It would had to've been circling us the whole time."

Draco felt sweat beading up on his forehead. Whatever was approaching them was divided, surrounding them for an ambush. Just like that, he was back, back to where blood fed the soil and his life was nothing but sand in one vampire's hands. "Oh, Merlin, we're going to die," Draco stated, unable to keep the slight tremble from his voice. This wasn't how was supposed to go—not defenseless, not like such a damn pitiful disgrace.

"How about you lend a bloke a wand?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter snapped. "We are not going to die. And you are not touching this wand again until we can apparate."

A loud guttural groan sounded from their right.

"What kind of creature makes that noise?" Harry muttered to himself.

Pacing a full circle, Malfoy finally stopped, facing the other wizard. "Remember during the triwizard tournament? You summoned your broom to when you faced the dragon. . . ."

"Already on it," Harry whispered. He raised his wand toward the direction of the castle, mumbling the spell under his breath. With a shrug, he glanced over at Malfoy. "It will take a minute."

"I don't think we have a minute." Draco slowly bent down, picking up a sturdy, arm-length limb. "I don't think we have _half_ a minute actually."

They received no new warnings as the brush behind them parted. The wizards stumbled out of the way, Draco falling to the ground, his primitive weapon raised up to guard against a blow. A blade chopped the limb in half, and rose again, slowly. Draco rolled out of the path of the dagger and onto his feet.

His face twisted in disgust at the smell coming off of the creature. In the moment he had to observe it, he saw a rotten uniform hanging off the decomposing flesh of a man long dead. And, of course, the daggers were still fresh in his mind.

While the zombie seemed to be moving in slow motion, it was still moving and in the wizard's direction.

"Potter!" Draco shouted angrily. "Now would be a nice time to flex those magic. . ." His statement was cut off by a ball of fire zooming past him, exploding in the zombie's chest. The creature groaned, falling backward.

There was no time for victorious pause—already, more of the dead men were walking out of the forest depths, weapons raised. Harry sent a petrifying curse to meet the closest. He didn't need another, spotting his broom zipping through the woods, straight toward the two wizards. Harry jumped aboard, pulling the handle up before he flew into a tree's trunk.

Malfoy ducked out of the path of one monster's blade, diving right. He scrambled back up, watching Harry turn the broom back around. Draco jumped up, catching the tail of the broom with one hand as the zombies lumbered onto the clear spot where he had been standing.

"Slow down, damn it! I'm going to slip off!" Malfoy shouted. He gripped the straw and wood tightly, looking down at the darken depths below. "Harry!"

But Harry was moving fast, getting to the area just out of the tree tops. "Swing yourself over!" he snapped. "If you slip, I'm not coming back for you, Malfoy."

Draco grimaced, scooting his hands alone the base until he had room to bring up one leg at a time. Finally in a decent, if somewhat uncomfortable seat, he growled. "You almost let me fall, you sorry sod!"

"You weren't going to fall," Harry said, slowing the broom down somewhat. "Must have been right scared though—I don't think I've ever heard you use my first name without attaching a swear word to it."

"Shut the hell up," Malfoy muttered. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes growing large. "Go faster, Potter."

Harry attempted to look back. "But you just said to slow down?"

"Well, now I want you to go faster! Speed it up!" Malfoy said. "We're being followed," he sneered as an explanation, "by a bloody bat—a large bat."

"That's enough incentive for me," Harry answered, leaning into the broom. "Hold on to your knickers, Malfoy."


	7. Chapter 7: The Face in the Mirror

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 7: The Face in the Mirror**

It was not the crisp morning air that raised the gooseflesh on Draco's arms. It was fear for one's own life and the shock of having escaped certain death. But the wizard had no time for such sentiments. In fact, he was too busy glancing over his shoulder to even notice that he was shivering from the encounter in the woods.

"Are you a seeker or not, Potter? Fly this cheap trash faster already," he snapped, catching sight of a pair of flapping wings frantically beating through the blackened, accursed sky below and behind them, steadily gaining on the broom.

Harry growled at the statement, leaning even further into the broom, his chest pushed onto the wood. Truth be told, he knew that he wouldn't be able to move any faster so close to the tree tops without loosing control. "Shut the hell up already, Malfoy. I don't usually fly with a nagging fairy at the straw."

Draco sneered at the remark, turning back to glare at the mess of black hair, all that he could still see of Harry's head. He snorted, scooting as far as possible to get further away from the other boy. "What? When did you stop letting the Weasel King ride your arse?"

The broom suddenly jerked to the right, throwing Draco in the opposite direction. The Slytherin swallowed his tongue, slipping down the handle, both legs dangling over the edge. He desperately held to the straw, pulling out clumps of hay before clutching the end of the wooden handle.

"You're trying to get me killed!" Draco screeched.

Harry sat up, letting the broom level out so that the other wizard could get his grip, but Draco's eyes only widened in horror at Potter's actions.

"PULL UP!" Draco gaze moved down to see the bat, having caught up with them, now clawing at the sole of his shoe. "Damn it, pull up again!" He kicked at the animal, doing more to loosen his hold on the broom than free himself. "Let go of me, you bloody flying rat!"

"Hold on, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, quickly jerking the handle up, throwing them into an almost vertical, ear-popping climb. The boy-who-lived released one hand, reaching down to grab hold of Draco's wrist just as the Slytherin began to slip further down. "I can't reach my wand. You'll have to apparate us without it. Can you do it? Malfoy!"

Draco cried out as the bat painfully held to his ankle, its wide wing span slapping this legs. The young man glanced down to see the forest growing smaller beneath them, the ground quickly disappearing, along with all thought of the animal. A wave of nausea swept over him; he'd never even played quidditch this high in the air, especially with something trying to pull him down.

"I guess I'll bloody well have to!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

He closed his eyes. _Concentrate! Damn it, there's nothing left for me to use! I'm drained. But Potter has. . . ._ Draco sucked in a deep breath of air, groaning as he felt his body moving in every direction at once, everything zooming past.

He blinked when the broom leveled out again. They were in front of the manor, flying directly toward the third floor balcony. Draco felt a weight lift from his body and his eyes moved down, catching sight of the bat falling from them, obviously dazed from the apparition. _How the hell did I bring that filthy thing along? _The wizard shook his head, not voicing the question.

"Land already," Draco groaned.

Harry released him a few feet above the terrace. The wizard caught his footing, quickly stepping out of the way so that Potter could land behind him. Brow raised, Draco stared at the open French paned doors, slowly walking through them, lips parted as if he had forgotten what he was about to say.

The room was clean, as straight and tidy and full of lacy femininities as Narcissa Malfoy had always preferred. One might expect that her taste would be as cold and spacious as her public appearance, but they would be wrong. While the rest of the manor was designed in dark, precise style, often preferred by the higher class members of wizarding society, Narcissa's private quarters were somewhat warmer, in creams and pinks that showed a younger woman's touch. Though he would never admit it, as a child Draco had spent many mornings sitting in her room, watching the sun rise and his mother sleep, if she was not spending the evening in his father's bed.

But this small space no longer held such fancies. It had not for a long time, not since he had grown up. Even now it felt odd being alone in her room. However, Draco did not let memories account for his awkwardness. No, the twisting in his gut had more to do with the open trunk that sat at the foot of her bed, half full of folded robes, a matching, scattered layer of clothing and necessities also covering the top of her mattress. She had been packing, preparing to leave.

"That means she's still here," Harry said, breaking the silence. "That's a good thing," he clarified.

Draco turned, almost having forgotten the wizard was still with him. "Sure. . ." But something was not right with this scene. If his mother was going to leave this place, she would have done so when he'd gone after his father. Why would she remain if she'd had the good sense to pack a trunk? Could she be waiting for him?

Draco bit his lip. _No. That's not the answer—something's wrong. _

"Well, then, find her so we can leave." Potter crossed the room, opening the door into the corridor. He gave it a dark glance before stepping back, to let Draco take the lead, a frown on his face. "Come on, Malfoy. We're not piddling around here all morning."

"Fine," Draco sneered. "I suppose you were secretly hoping that I'd fall off your broom earlier? You didn't seem to be playing the hero then. What would. . . .?"

_Dumbledore say? _He let it drop, his best line. Draco didn't care about offending people (no secret amongst his schoolmates), but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say _that_ name.

"Why don't you finish? Cat got your tongue?" Harry slipped one hand into his robe, where his wand waited. "Just say it Malfoy, just like you're always talking about my mum and dad. You can't, can you. You didn't have anything to do with parents. That's the difference. You know as well as anyone that you're responsible for Headmaster Dumbledore's death."

"I didn't," Draco began.

"You didn't say the words, but it's your fault that the opportunity was there. That's the truth, Malfoy. Get use to it. You'll probably spend your whole life feeling sorry about it, or being a bitter little prick about who aimed the wand, but I don't care about your feelings. I don't care. However, if you want to get your mother out of the situation you've managed to put her in, then I suggest we speed things along."

Harry slipped out the door, his footsteps sounding loudly as he walked down the hall.

Draco stared after him, stunned by the other wizard's words. "When the hell did he start talking like that," he whispered before walking out into the corridor after him.

The manor was quiet, but Draco imagined that he should begin looking for his mother at ground level. Harry, apparently, had already had that idea, since he was halfway down the first story of stairs when Draco reached them.

"You might not give a damn, but that still doesn't explain why you almost knocked me off the bloody broom!" Draco called, running down the steps to catch up with the other wizard. "I thought you needed me."

"I don't need you—I never did," Harry grumbled, not bothering to look back. "I said I would get any aid I could from you—whether you volunteered it or not. That's a big difference from actually needing help. And, as for trying to kill you, I didn't. That was an accident."

"You _accidentally_ lost control of your broom?" Draco seethed. "Of all the damned excuses. . . ."

"Actually, another bat dropped out in front of me, and I had to dodge it," Harry snapped.

"Another bat? Dropped out of nowhere?" Draco rolled his eyes, finally reaching Harry's side. "That's the stupidest thing. . ."

"Whatever, Malfoy. I honestly don't care if you believe. . ." His voice broke off as he came to a stop at ground level.

Draco was about to reply to his defense when his gaze followed Harry's into the main foyer. His eyes widened, and he pushed past the other wizard.

"What happened?" he hissed, transfixed.

He stared at the chaotic mess before them, jaw dropped in awe. The front door to the manor was open, but between the two wizards and the exit floated a field of glass, glinting shards of all shapes and sizes bouncing off of one another in slow motions. Upon second glance, the silver of their reflections showed. They were obviously from the twin mirrors that hung on either side of the vestibule. But what had done this? What magic had shattered them and left them clinging to time and space?

"There's something in them," Harry said, taking a step forward. He snatched one large piece from the air, staring down at it. "Look at this."

Draco didn't move to join him, instead grabbing a shard for himself. He looked down at the pool of reflection, not seeing him own face but another's, his mother's. The scene on the mirror pulled away, playing for him something he could not hear, only watch.

In the glass fragment, his mother sat upon the settee in the parlor, a pocket watch held in her hands. She looked up from it, tear-filled eyes studying the door of the room in anticipation. Narcissa wiped her face with a handkerchief, blotting at her alabaster cheeks until they were rosy. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. Her eyes widened, and she quickly stood, a word leaving her lips.

"Lucius. She said 'Lucius'," Draco said in realization. "But my father wasn't here. . ."

His mother's image ran out of the parlor, but the mirror seemed to follow her, capturing her every movement. Narcissa stepped through her front door, staring out into the night. She turned from side to side, listening. Then she must have heard something, for she ran down the front steps, toward the cliffside from which Draco had appeared earlier in the evening.

"What's she doing?" Harry asked.

"She hears. . ." Draco dropped his answer, captivated once more. He saw what she must have seen, hours ago, a figure on his knees, hunched over, and covered from head to toe in a black, hooded robe. "That's not him, mother. . . Not him. . ."

Draco held his breath, silently commanding his mother's image to return to the manor. But she disobeyed him, stepping forward toward the man, the man she assumed was her husband. She bent down to rest a hand on his shoulder, and he turned.

There was screaming. Draco could almost hear it as his mother saw the face of the man who was now holding her wrist. It was not Lucius Malfoy. It was someone who even Draco had never seen before. But, somehow, he knew that this monster was one of Dracula's. It had to be.

The image in the glass disappeared, leaving only the reflection of a young, blond wizard.

"What happened? What is this, Malfoy?"

Draco shook his head, any semblance of a proper answer flying from his head. "Taken," he whispered. "He took her."

He released the shard into the air, but instead of floating back with the others, it shot back toward his hand, slicing open the skin between his thumb and index and flying back to embed its sharp point into the staircase.

"What the hell!" Draco snapped, clasping his bleeding hand. "What just happened?"

"This isn't good," Harry replied, barely getting out of the way of his own fragment, which ended its revolt by shattering into the wall behind him. "This _really_ isn't good."

At precisely that moment, every floating shard turned in midair, needle-like ends pointed toward the two wizards.

Draco stumbled back. "I agree."

And then, as one, the pieces of glass flew forward.


	8. Chapter 8: The Sleeper's Arrival

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 8: The Sleeper's Arrival**

Light danced over them, twinkling like star-shine on the razor sharp edges, as the mirror's thousand shards shot forward from invisible chambers. These glass bullets flew through the air toward their intended victims, the two young wizards at the back of the foyer. Staircases flanked the pair, doors placed on either side—but there was no chance they could get out of the way in time.

The fraction of a second gave the boys the mercy of clenched eyes, but they did not take it. They stared in wide-eyed horror at the tiny missiles as the pieces slung forward, whistling through the air.

Draco felt his body tremble, already prepared for the shock of a hundred needles piercing him at once.

Then the light disappeared.

They were gone. . . All of it was gone in a flash of black. Draco blinked at the sudden change, a new fear wracking through him as he collected his thoughts. He wondered idly if he was already dead—then he heard the shatter or, better stated, the hundreds of shatters in front of him, bouncing off of the dark shield.

Draco stepped back, holding his bloody hand in a fist against him. It was then that he realized that the barrier between him and his death was made of some fine, night-colored cloth and that it was a man holding it out before him.

"Not a man," the wizard whispered.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the almost angelic looking male standing to his side, holding the strange cloak out behind him with both arms outstretched and head hung low like a finely-dressed crucifixion over a black curtain.

"You're not dead."

Draco turned toward the speaker. "You seem so disappointed," he sneered back at Harry, bitterly noting that Golden Boy had not been at all injured and was, instead, standing, wand cautiously aimed at their protector's cloak. And, making such a mental note, he decided to refocus his shaken mind toward the one who had just managed to save him from a gruesome death.

"And who the Hell are you, and what are you doing _my_ manor?"

"I think what he meant," Harry bit off, before Draco could continue, "is thank you for saving our lives, but we're not very inclined to completely trust strangers at the moment."

Soft and commanding, "A wise decision, Harry Potter." The "stranger" in question cocked his head slightly, acknowledging the young wizard's uneasy shift. The man dropped his cloak, the barren foyer revealed again, its floor littered with glass pieces, as finely shaved as sand. "And you are Draco Malfoy," their mysterious savior continued.

"That's brilliant—you want an autograph from scarhead, I assume," Draco snapped. He took a brittle breath, attempting to hide the fear that was still laced through him. The mirror was tame compared to what stood before him—that was what Draco's blood told him, even if his mind noted that he should be dead but for this being. Was this one of Dracula's tricks? One of his games which he spoke so reverently of? Or was this creature here for another reason. "What about a name, vampire?"

"Vampire?" Harry whispered. His wand steadied, knuckles white.

The man raised a lazy brow and approached the wizards slowly, ignoring their defensive stance and staring at Draco. "The Belmont blood remains strong in you. That is fortunate. However, your instinct oversteps its bounds—I am the result of a human woman and a vampire. I don't believe you have ever met one of my kind before."

"You're not wrong."

"Malfoy, what's he talking about?"

"No idea, Potter," Draco answered quickly, glaring at his guest in return.

The half-vampire gave no pause to Draco's lie. "My name," he said, "is Alucard. And I come on this day to aid you against the vampire known as Dracula."

A moment of silence passed between the wizards as they glanced at one another, questions in their eyes.

"Never heard of you," Draco replied, unable to stop the child-like shrug from hunching his shoulders.

"Should we know you?" Harry asked in turn, brow raised.

Alucard did not answer the question. "There are many things I must discuss with you, Draco Malfoy. However, there is a task you must first fulfill—the rest can wait."

"The hell it can," Draco snapped.

"It will, Mr. Malfoy. It must if you wish to reach your mother in time."

Draco's eyes widened and the rest of his face hardened around those gray orbs. His nails crushed into the open flesh of his palms as he clenched his fists again, the familiar sting keeping him vigilant. "What do you know?" he asked.

"She is in the hands of one of Dracula's trusted servants, and she does not have long to live, if indeed she still lives."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco snapped, tossing back his blond locks in a nervous shake of his head.

Alucard's voice seemed to disappear, and he looked down at the boys with a lazy, deep gaze. "If you wish to defeat a vampire, wizard, you will need the weapon of a Belmont. You require the Vampire Killer."

"The Vampire Killer?" Harry asked with a raised brow. "What's that?"

"Listen, you part-vampire ponce," Draco seethed, "if you know more about my mother, then you should speak. If not, I don't have the time or patience to toy with you—as you noted, we are wizards, and we most definitely know how to defeat a vampire without your stupid, and might I add creatively named, Vampire Killer. And I definitely don't have the time to go searching for some dusty weapon on the word of a being I have no reason to trust."

"Malfoy," Harry warned. "Perhaps we should. . ."

"The Vampire Killer is located in your cellar," Alucard interrupted.

Draco blinked. "Oh. Well, I suppose we could pick it up while we're here then."


	9. Chapter 9: The Hunter's Weapon

_**Dragon's Bane**_

**Chapter 9: The Hunter's Weapon**

"_All truth lies behind closed doors." –Centra, "City of Fallen Angels"_

The cellar.

That's how the vampire, or half-vampire as it were, referred to the dark chamber beneath the manor. When Draco was a child, he had called it the catacombs. His imagination had been better in those days, as he supposed was the case for many seven-year-olds suddenly greeting false manhood.

The Malfoy cellar was practically a floor unto itself, no simple storage area. It held secrets. The knowledge of such secrets and the dank atmosphere had sent a younger Draco's mind into the land of fierce warriors and deadly monsters. Draco had wielded his short play-broom as a mighty sword, fighting off the crates and propped, dusty portraits that attacked him. For a few weeks, the catacombs had been his favorite place in the world. And then his father had caught him climbing back out through the lone, hidden exit beneath the west wing's staircase. Playing had ended that day.

Draco though he must have been braver back in those days because, as a young man, the cellar passage alone was frightening. Of course, that could have been due to the body.

"Wonky?" he asked, his voice caught in his throat.

He stared down at the old house-elf's form.

It was fragile with age and stiff with death. The little servant had been partially blind already. Now his pale eyes were white, glazed and fixed in a perfect expression of terror. They were looking up at their master from within a tilted head propped against the wall, pointy ear squashed and, below, the neck holding on by a thread of twisted skin instead of bone.

"You were hiding it . . ." Draco raised a brow at his own conclusion—no, surely the house-elf's location was a coincidence. The elf wouldn't have thought to protect the cellar over his mistress's life. He would have been devoted to helping her alone—he could barely remember his own name muchless make a decision to protect the manor. Of course if Narcissa had given Wonky orders before the incident . . . had his mother known about the Vampire Killer?

"Malfoy, what are you doing running off like that . . . ?" Harry came to a halt as he rounded the corner, seeing the spot where Draco was knelt down. "Your house-elf. He's dead."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Brilliant deduction, Potter."

Harry took another step forward, his hand on his wand. "Did you. . . ?"

"Did I what? Kill him? Yes—in the twenty seconds that I've been out of your sight, I've tracked down my elf and twisted the little bastard's head off his body. That's how a Malfoy spends his free time, after all. . ." Draco rattled, leaning forward to grab the dead elf by his dingy pillow case.

"You arse. I was going to as if you'd found the weapon," Harry snapped.

"Liar."

"I wasn't. . ."

"Shut it, Potter." Draco slowly pulled the elf out of the way, his eyes on the other wizard all the while, pretending spite. The truth was, he didn't care to look down at the heavy lump of flesh. What if the head had fallen off? Could he stomach that? He had seen worse but he hadn't been forced to touch his father's body. . .

Draco stood back up, wiping his hands off on his legs. He leaned forward against the wall. A pop sounded and the wall swung open to reveal a door without a knob. He pressed one hand against the entry and the wood shook slightly, accepting him. The door opened inward.

"It might take a while to find this weapon. . . I'm going down there alone, too—I won't have you getting your dirty fingers on my family heirlooms," Draco sneered, taking a step inside.

Harry lunged forward, grabbing the other wizard's arm. "How do I know you won't come back with some illegal dark object that will hex us all to hell?" Harry paused. "Or have you forgotten that I don't trust you a damned bit, Malfoy?"

"This is my manor, Potter."

"And I have the wand, Malfoy."

"I hope you trip on your arse, Potter."

"Right back at you, Malfoy."

Draco blinked. For a moment, life had felt normal again, like school days spent picking fights with younger weaklings (preferably non-Slytherin). Or cursing the name of Potter. But when Draco had seen the door again, he'd realized that the comfortable tension of the past no longer existed. While the wizards were bickering, a dark reality still surrounded them—Draco had never quite noticed it when he was younger.

Draco felt weak again. But Potter looked the same as ever, damn him. It wasn't fair.

"This door only opens for a Malfoy. I could leave you down there. It's dark. It would only be too easy to lose you."

Harry smirked, looking past the door. "So nice of you to tell me as much, Malfoy. And I suppose you'll enjoy your quality time upstairs with your mate Alucard."

Harry motioned Draco forward.

The blond wizard didn't have a response. It seemed his quick tongue was betraying him, after so many years of loyal service.

Draco held to the stairs as he descended into the darkness, the only light shining for behind him, in the form of Harry's lit wand—the door had already slammed closed as soon as the wizards had passed into the cellar.

At the end of the staircase, Draco stopped, his eyes following the pale beam of Potter's wand and searching the long shadow of an object on the floor. It was a short toy broom, its handle finely shaped, its bristles slightly worn from the many times its young owner had smacked it against the floor when he'd fallen off.

All these years since his father had locked him out of the cellar, cast him into the pale-walled manor, all those years and still no one had even picked up the toy. If Draco had not been so spoiled, he might have missed the broom; if the Malfoys had lived in a quaint home, they would have actually used the cellar storage more often. Draco had thought, at first, those to be good excuses for the abandonment of the underground, but the truth was now obvious. His parents didn't come downstairs, didn't let him down into the cellar, because of what his "catacombs" actually held.

"Where do we begin, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't even know what the hell we're looking for."

"A whip."

"Excuse me?" Draco turned, but the wand's light stopped him from glaring up at the other wizard's face. "A whip? Why a whip? I honestly don't have time for your silly jokes, Potter."

"I'm not joking. Alucard said it was a whip."

"Why would that oaf tell you that?"

"He would have told you as well, but you ran off on your own before he could—perhaps, you should pay a bit more attention to detail."

"So, the mighty Vampire Killer is a whip. What a bloody fantastic waste of time," Draco growled, stomping back up until he greeted the stair in front of Harry. "You could have mentioned that it was a whip earlier."

"Waste of time? It's a weapon for killing vampires—isn't that what you need? Isn't your mother--?

"A fucking whip, Potter? How many wizards—or muggles for that matter—do you know with the ability to use a whip?"

Harry was quiet.

"That's what I thought," Draco continued. "A waste of time. I would have been better off just looking for a wand."

Potter slowly raised his lit wand in Draco's face, the light blinding the wizard. His voice was dangerously low. "Find the weapon, Malfoy," he commanded. He leaned forward. "Now. We don't have time for your games."

"Get that out of my face!" Draco hissed, instinctively taking a step backward. His foot missed the next stair and he fell back onto the floor, catching the fall hard on his elbow. The wizard winced, rolling to one side to push himself up.

Harry stared down at him, his mouth open in surprise. "Malfoy, I . . ."

"You," Draco spat. "You are going to pay for that, Potter."

A heavy pause weighed the air. Neither wizard moved. Both had more to say, but Draco's curiosity suddenly stole the tense atmosphere. He noted something more important than the threats that were about to leave his mouth—he saw the bottom step.

The step he had missed. It was lower than the rest, and the wood. . . There was something wrong with the look of the wood. It was smoother on top, almost shiny in the light.

Harry must have noticed as well because he took to one knee on the second stair and reached down to touch the odd step.

"Don't," Draco warned. He recognized it now. The wood looked the same as that which composed the cellar door.

Draco slid a hand across the top and the step lifted ever so slightly from the dull encasing sides. Draco gripped the tiny lip and lifted the box, a hollow, topless step where it had just been. There was not a lock on the box but instead a leather latch at its front. It opened with ease.

The Vampire Killer stared back at the wizard, a leather whip twisted about itself like a narrow-bodied snake.

Draco felt a chill crawl up his wand arm. The weapon called to him. He reached out and slammed the lid down, latching the box. The wizard stared down at it a moment more, as if expecting it to attack.

"Well?" Harry asked. "That's it, isn't it?"

"No. I'm sure there are several whips hidden in my cellar."

Harry's frown deepened. "Pick it up."

Draco cursed under his breath, standing with the heavy box tucked beneath one arm. He walked past the other wizard, anxiousness pushing him back onto the ground floor. He wanted to see it again, look down at that stupid strap of leather, see what made it so special. His arm tightened around it when he reached out of the door.

Draco would have ran into the half-vampire if Potter hadn't moved to his side. The wizards stopped, surprised to find Alucard waiting in the hall.

"You were successful," he stated. "Good."

"Yes, lucky me," Draco snorted. "I have a whip."

The half-vampire glanced from Draco to Harry, as if his next words were for the black-haired wizard. "The Vampire Killer is the weapon of a Belmont." His eyes found Draco's again and he held the gray gaze. "If you can wield the weapon, you may yet live."

Draco looked away from Alucard. The weapon could save his life, his mother's life. Impossible. Surely.

It was a waste of time.

Potter's eyes were burning into his back. He knew that the other wizard wanted to know the story. He'd heard the name, of course, Belmont. Alucard had meant him to, for some reason. Potter would ask soon.

"Follow me," Alucard stated, breaking Draco's thoughts. "A bloody path lies ahead of the both of you. There are many things we must discuss."


End file.
